Raw Human Emotion

We went to the Good Friday service at Clay United Methodist Church. We're not full members but have attended regularly for nearly a year now. The service was a powerful one.

They did five readings, progressing through the story of Jesus's crucifixion. After the final reading, the choir stood and we all sang Were You There When They Crucified My Lord? My 11-year old son, Alex, had been following along intently and joined in singing. Between verses, this passage from John (19:31-35) was read:

"It was Preparation Day, and to prevent the bodies remaining on the cross during the Sabbath, the Jews asked Pilate to have the legs broken and the bodies taken away. Consequently the soldiers came and broke the legs of the first man who had been crucified with him and then the other. When they came to Jesus, they found he was already dead, and so instead of breaking his legs one of the soldiers pierced his side with a lance; and immediately there came out blood and water.

Then we sang again. "Were you there when they pierced him in the side?" That was where Alex lost it. I heard him begin to cry, big tears and heaving sobs. And he continued to sing as well. Through his tears, I heard him sing, "Tremble, tremble, tremble..." The folks in the pew behind us, along with Michele and I, began to cry as well. I have never been so overcome by such pure, raw emotion as at that moment, singing those words on that day, hearing Alex crying his heart out as the significance of it all struck him like a thunderbolt.

Happy Easter to all.

P.S. - While we were all singing and crying, my nine-year old, Isaac, was stone cold passed out at my side, his head against Michele's shoulder. We feared that at any moment he would start snoring as the congregation was filing out in complete silence.

Fast forward to this morning at 12:30 AM, when we were awakened by Alex coming to report that Isaac threw up in his bed. For the next hour, we were cleaning (well, mostly Michele while I battled a powerful gag reflex) a most horrendus smelling substance from sheets and stuffed animals and hair, etc. About every hour on the hour, Isaac has had to charge to the bathroom and is one sick little boy.

He lamented amidst one such trip to the bathroom, "Why me? Why does this have to happen to me?" Being the wonderful, caring parents that we are, Michele and I told him that he was likely being punished by God and Jesus for falling asleep in church. He was not amused.

Relatives Growing Obscene Things

Since we can't plant anything until round abouts Mother's Day, there's not much new about the garden. It's still a patch of poop-covered soil in the yard. There is other news to share, though, and it's nearly as disturbing as my apparent fixation with excrement.

The picture at left is of John Barillo, husband to my cousin Tref. What he is holding may look disturbing, but Tref assures me they are called Cucuzzi, or Italian zucchini, however I still harbor a suspicion that they're actually alien breeding pods.

These long dongs are described as "a vining annual, with large pubescent leaves..." I knew there was something rotten in Denmark.

John and Tref also grow stuff in their basement. If their subterranean farming efforts are as impressive as these, I fully expect some delicious "brownies" coming my way soon. (To any potential readers employed in the arena of law enforcement or service with the DEA, the above comment was JUST A JOKE.)

Here's another joke somewhat related to farming that I heard this morning:

Why do they call it PMS?

A: Because Mad Cow disease was already taken.

/ducking/